A Slow Yet Sure Realization
by Consulting Detective
Summary: It all starts when John Watson asks Sherlock Holmes if he wants to go out to dinner at nine thirty in the morning. The rest is history. Read to find out what the history is.
1. Coffee With Our Morning Dinner

**Author's Notes: Hello to all the people that have decided to click here and read my story! I'm sure you see this like, all the time, but this is my first fanfic. At first I was really proud of it, but then the more I started to read it over and over again, the more I wasn't too sure. Anywho, I'm sure it's fine. So, I hope you enjoy reading as much as I have enjoyed writing!**

**P.S. Sherlock Holmes is not my creation. He is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's character.**

**P.P.S. John Watson is also not mine. Same applies for who created him.**

**P.P.P.S. I do NOT make profit off of this or any other stories.**

**P.P.P.P.S. But, I DO own the plot.  
**

**Oh, and one more thing. The first chapter of this story could either be looked at as established friendship, or pre-slash like. But if you're not really so into the whole slash thing, then I would just stick to reading the first chapter. I mean, it could be a one shot all on its own. And I'm going to be rating it 'T' just to be safe. That is to say, for the later chapters of the story.  
**

**But this might be a one shot if it isn't too popular. But enough of all that. Read the story, and let me know what you think!**

**R&R

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_Summary: It all starts when John Watson asks Sherlock Holmes if he wants to go out to dinner at nine thirty in the morning. The rest is history. Read to find out what the history is._

_A Slow Yet Sure Realization_

_Chapter One: Coffee With Our Morning Dinner_

Once upon a time there were two men who lived in a flat together. Their names were 'Consulting Detective' Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson. They were a rather interesting pair to see walking down the street side by side because they looked so very different from the other. Mr. Holmes was a rather tall man with long limbs and long fingers. He had rather messy, curly black hair parted to the side, and sharp facial features. Cat-like, almost, with piercing blue eyes, very high cheek bones, and a unique pair of lips. One could say Mr. Holmes was almost pretty.

Then, of course, there was John Watson. He wasn't nearly as tall as his flat-mate. At first glance you could suppose he was really just your average looking man. He had straight hair that was between brown and blond parted to the side, big, weary deep blue eyes if you looked closely, and thin tight lips. Though if one were to get a closer look at Doctor Watson, they would see much more. They would see a soldier. A man who had experienced much more than he bargained for, though relished in the thrill of it all. Unfortunately the war had produced in him a bad shoulder, and for a while, a limp. Though Sherlock helped him see that the limp was just something formed in his own mind.

One morning, a rather rare morning, there were no cases. Because of this, the Doctor decided to spend the morning working on his blog, and the Consulting Detective decided to sulk around. He did this by plopping down on the couch, stomach first, and would heave a heavy sigh every minute on the dot. About five minutes into this, when John came to the conclusion that he could no longer tolerate Holmes, he abruptly shut his computer, and walked over to him, for once towering over the other.

Watson's eyes bore into his flat-mates. Sherlock feigned innocence, not breaking eye contact with John, though was the first one to break the rather deafening silence. It hurt his ears.

"Why dear Watson, what ever is the matter?"

"Don't play dumb Holmes. I know you want something. Just spill it out and get it over with."

"I'm bored."

Watson was anything but surprised by this retort. As he made his way back to his laptop, he gave Sherlock his best answer.

"So, go to the park and deduce people or something."

Sherlock moved into a sitting position.

"People these days make it far too easy. It's like reading a very poorly written novella with no beginning, no middle, and just a stupid ending."

Watson leaned on the back of his chair. He had another idea. It wasn't exactly genius, especially at this hour, but he thought it would be good for his friend. And he wasn't entirely against the idea of going himself.

"Why don't we go get dinner?"

Sherlock lifted one of his eyebrows in thought. He knew Watson was going somewhere with this. He deduced to the conclusion that Watson was trying to do him a favor. Trying to get him outside for a little social interaction, even if it was still nine thirty in the morning.

"Watson, you do realize what time it is."

Of course he knew what time it was. John gave a sly smile to his flat-mate.

"Well, last I heard you don't really care for the social norms now do you Sherlock?"

Sherlock was delighted with his remark, and agreed to go to 'dinner' with him.

…

Watson decided that instead of going to Sherlock's usual place to eat (because they didn't have to pay a fee,) that they go somewhere a bit more populated. He found a sweet little restaurant that had some tables and chairs outside, so he stopped in front of it, with Sherlock to his right. When he turned to face his friend to ask him what he thought, John noticed that Sherlock gave a little frown.

"What, you don't like it?"

After a few moments in silence just analyzing the restaurant, Sherlock turned his head to look at Watson. He squinted his eyes only the slightest bit, studying his face.

"Why here?"

The doctor thought it was a fair question. After all, they only ever went to that other little place that was not a block away from their flat.

"I dunno. Thought it would be a nice little change. It'll only be for today. That is to say, if you approve."

John cleared his throat after he finished his sentence. For some reason he started to feel slightly nervous under Sherlock's gaze, so he broke eye contact. Sherlock came to the conclusion that he was making his friend nervous. It tickled him for some reason. And than he realized that he didn't get "tickled" by anything. Before he could stop himself, he made a face that was both shock and confusion. Fortunately though it was gone as quickly as it came. He was thankful that John decided to look away. Sherlock realized that he should soon respond before the silence seemed too suspicious.

"I approve very much."

Watson looked back up at his friend. He gave him a crooked grin.

"Excellent. Shall we sit down?"

They both took a seat at one of the small tables that was just outside the restaurant. Watson realized that the table was just big enough for two, though didn't dwell on the fact for too long.

Just a few moments after sitting down, a cute little ginger-haired waitress came out to give them the menus. She gave them both a sweet smile and told them she would be back in a few moments to take their orders.

When Watson turned to the dinner specials, the first thing that caught his eye was the prices. He gave himself a little frown. Sherlock obviously noticed this, and due to sheer brilliance (if he did say so himself,) came up with the conclusion that the prices were something he wasn't expecting.

Sherlock thought back to when he was watching a situation comedy, (which he didn't even find remotely funny, by the bye,) and remembered that one of the very poorly developed characters ended up paying for both him and his date. Since he couldn't think of a way to bring it up, he just quoted the character verbatim.

"It's all on me."

Watson looked up from his menu to peer at Sherlock. He opened his mouth, and then closed it. Sherlock wasn't sure if he said it right. Maybe it sounded too abrupt?

"Don't be daft. It was my idea, I'll pay," was what Watson finally was able to say. Sherlock thought once again back to the show.

"No, I insist." He decided that he sounded a little bit fake, but he was pretty sure this was how normal (meaning stupid in Sherlock's case,) people did things. Though, of course, Watson wasn't even close to the definition of stupid. Sherlock knew that.

Watson saw what Sherlock was doing. He smiled to himself, not really caring if Sherlock saw.

"Fine, I have an idea. I'll pay for me, and you pay for you. How's that sound?" To Watson that seemed like the perfect solution, though for some reason this didn't quite suffice for his friend.

"How about I pay for you, and you pay for me?"

Watson lifted an eyebrow in amusement.

"Is there a difference?"

Sherlock thought that if he paid for Watson, and Watson paid for him, it would give him at least some satisfaction. He decided to keep this little bit of information just for himself. When Sherlock spoke, he made him sound very sure of himself, convincing Watson that this was the way to go.

"Oh there's a difference."

Watson couldn't help but give a toothy smile and laugh. He heaved a sigh.

"If you insist."

Sherlock felt satisfied with himself. The cute little ginger-haired waitress came back to ask if they were ready. They both just got the first thing they saw on the dinner menu. As they waited for their food, they had very pleasant conversation, talking about nothing of consequence. It was a bit strange for Sherlock, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.

Watson was also having an extremely good time. He never saw Sherlock like this before. He looked less 'sociopathic,' as it were, and even dared to smile and laugh at some of the things John would say. When their food finally came, they ate in silence for a few minutes, just realizing how hungry they both were. When Sherlock looked up from his own food, he saw what John ordered looked rather appealing, so he reached over with his fork, and took what looked to be spaghetti.

John looked up, still in the middle of eating a string of a rather long piece of noodle.

Sherlock tried to keep his face neutral, though accidentally let a small smile slip.

They just stared at each other for a few moments. When Watson finally ate that piece of spaghetti, he reached over with his fork to Sherlock's plate with alarming stealth, and took what looked to be a rather large chunk of some fried vegetables.

Then, out of nowhere, they both just started laughing. It was a bit strange for both of them. They'd never been in this kind of situation with each other before. But even so, they still felt comfortable around one another.

Once they finished their food, which took longer than they thought because of all the talking and whatnot, they decided to each get a coffee.

At this point it was already one o'clock, though time seemed to go by so quickly, they didn't even realize.

When their coffees came, they drank slowly in silence, which for once, wasn't deafening to Sherlock's ears.

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**Hello again! R&R if you want to. But if you want to and do, I love ya! If you want to and don't, I'll just like you. If you just don't wanna do anything, than we're cool. X-3**

**Also, if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes lurking about, let me know, and I'll slap them silly until they're right.**

**Thanks again for reading! You're awesome!  
**


	2. Instinct

**Author's Notes: Hello again! Well, here's chapter two. Honestly though, I don't feel too good about it though. I mean, I like to write, but I've never gotten very er, _intimate_, between two characters before so, it's a little shaky, shall we say. Anyways, I hope you still like it. I guess this is where I should warn people that this chapter has some stuff. Nothing graphic, but stuff nonetheless. R&R if ya wanna.**

**Speaking of which, I would just like to thank those who reviewed my story. They made me feel awesome! But especially a thank you to ultraviolet128 and Takaouto ****who pointed out some of those nasty spelling and grammar errors. Big shout out to ya guys!**

**Oh, but just one more thing: All of the things I said before about NOT owning the characters, NOT making profit, but YES to owning the plot still apply.**

**And now, the main attraction.**

**Enjoy!

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_Summary: It all starts when John Watson asks Sherlock Holmes if he wants to go out to dinner at nine thirty in the morning. The rest is history. Read to find out what the history is._

_A Slow Yet Sure Realization_

_Chapter Two: Instinct_

When they both finally came home to their flat, something seamed to dwell on John Watson. It wasn't that he didn't have an amazing time with his friend, but something about their outing together didn't quite seem to just be an outing. It was almost like a… a date.

When he had this little realization, his face started to feel like it would burst into flames at any moment; his hands started to shake due to nerves. He tired hanging up his coat, but just barely got it on the hook. When he went over to the couch to flip on the television, it was hard for him to get a steady grip on the remote. He tried hiding these things from Sherlock, and thought that he might have succeeded, but to no avail.

The moment that they got home, Sherlock knew how John was feeling immediately. He too was feeling it himself. That maybe it did end up turning into a "date," as people called it.

The only difference between him and John right now was that Sherlock knew how to keep these emotions of sorts out of way from the general public. His friend obviously wasn't as skilled as he was as this present moment.

But then he realized that it wasn't just the skill of keeping ones self in check, but maybe being just a bit harder for his friend to grasp then it was for Sherlock. The more the detective started to think about it, the more he realized that he wasn't in the slightest bit opposed to having something more than akin to friendship with John. But seeing how the doctor was reacting to this slight realization, he wasn't so sure that his friend was on the same page as himself.

As John attempted to absent mindedly flick through the channels, he saw Sherlock head for the (John's) laptop computer. Instead of him just sitting on the stool in front of it, he grabbed it, and headed to the couch to sit next to John, Sherlock's knee momentarily bumping into his own. It frightened John a little bit, and wanted to slap himself for feeling like this. He had unintentionally brushed up against Sherlock in the most innocent of ways many times in the past, but all because of an outing, and now it was like time went that much slower when the contact was made. He needed to clarify with Sherlock.

He turned to his right only to see Sherlock typing away. Before he lost his nerve, he just let it out, saying it as quickly as he could so he could get it done and over with.

"What ever you think it was, it wasn't."

Just as quick as he said it, he turned his head back to the teli, pretending once again he was looking for something to watch, when really all he was trying to do was to focus on something other than Sherlock, no matter how pointless.

Sherlock kept typing and staring at the computer screen as if John hadn't said anything at all.

"My dear Watson, what ever are you talking about?"

John wasn't going to let Sherlock get away with pretending to be oblivious about the situation. He was determined to clear things up as soon as possible, not wanting it to rot in the back of his mind.

This time he gave his flat-mate his full, undivided attention, turning on the couch to face him completely, sitting on one leg while the other dangled off the sofa. Sherlock looked up from the computer to John, only to notice that he was now facing him full on.

Sherlock waited patiently for John to start, letting him form the words in his mind that he obviously wanted to get out into the open.

"You know very well what I'm talking about Sherlock. While I had had a splendid time with you, you do realized that it wasn't a— a… well, you know."

John ended his sentence on a cracked note. He was starting to lose his nerve a little bit. Then he noticed that he was slightly closer to Sherlock's face than he was just moments ago. The only thing he didn't quite understand was why he wasn't moving back.

"No John, I don't know. It wasn't a…"

"A date man! It wasn't a date!"

He didn't mean to sound so loud, but he couldn't help it. Why did Sherlock have to be like this to him, especially now of all times?

Sherlock lifted his hand to stick a finger in one of his ears as if trying to pry something out of it.

"Really John, no-one ever got anywhere by shouting."

John couldn't understand why Sherlock was being so calm. Oh wait, that was because he was Sherlock Holmes, a high functioning sociopath.

"I— I just want to be clear, that's all."

"Well, naturally you assumed it was date. I mean we did all the things most couples would do, like having easy conversation, no awkward silences, paying for each others meal. Oh, and don't for get about pick at the others food—"

This is where John cut Sherlock off. He propped up his elbow in the back of the sofa, and leaned his cheek in his hand.

"And you know these random unproven facts how exactly?"

Sherlock glanced back at his (John's) laptop for a fraction of a second. At this John quickly grabbed his computer back and ran across the room before Sherlock could respond.

When John saw what was on the screen, he wasn't sure whether to laugh or feel even more nervous and paranoid then he did before. Instead, for some very odd reason, he felt almost tickled by what he saw. He looked back up at his flat-mate who was slowly and cautiously standing up from his sitting position.

"A dating blog? You got your information from a dating blog?" At this point John was officially laughing, his earlier worries going straight out the window.

Sherlock sprinted towards John, not trying to hide the blush that was creeping up his neck.

John, now in full soldier mode, avoided Sherlock with ease. He ran to behind the couch, trying to keep some form of separation between him and the detective.

"And not only that," continued John, who glanced down at the screen, "but it is written by a girl presumably fifteen years old, who titles her little blog 'The Secrets' of Dating: By a High School Dating Guru Who Knows More Than You Think.' My, isn't she full of herself."

John looked up to see Sherlock slowly circling the couch to get to him. He noticed a glint of something in his eyes. He wasn't furious, and the embarrassment seemed to have subsided into just a slight blush in his cheeks.

But there was still something there.

John, realizing he was just standing there, circled the couch in the same rhythm as Sherlock, like they were in a boxing ring. He didn't break eye contact with the detective. Not once since he looked from his laptop.

The doctor started to feel the panic from only a little while ago come back to him, though this time made sure Sherlock couldn't tell for sure.

John was right about Sherlock. He was never angry in the first place, just very embarrassed. Partially for the blog he was caught reading, and partially for not being quicker than John. But right now, the thing that his friend couldn't figure out what lay in the self-proclaimed sociopaths eyes, was part amusement, and strangely enough, part lust. Sherlock couldn't quite figure out what brought this upon him. He wasn't even aware he could feel such emotions, especially so many in such a small span of time. It was all very new to him, and he wasn't sure how to act upon them. And when he acted instinctively to some of them, like when he sprinted for his (John's) computer, he couldn't help but feel stupid, and he never felt stupid.

Why though? Because he was brilliant. Obviously.

But lust was the one he couldn't help but dwell on. He knew a fair amount about these so called emotions. Due to boredom one day, he decided to do his research on them, and found many detailed descriptions. That was most likely the only reason he knew what he was feeling and wasn't having something called a "panic attack."

Some time during this little seminar in his head, John inconspicuously place his computer on the couch, hoping Sherlock would just go for it. But for some reason, he wasn't doing so. He just kept staring even more intensely back at the doctor, and for a fleeting second, John forgot he was circling the couch, backing himself into an ambiguous corner.

Sherlock now stood directly in front of him, his arms now on either side of John. He wasn't sure what he was doing. He supposed it was just his instincts taking over, and oddly enough, he didn't mind.

John was now in full panic mode, pushing up again the wall as much as he could, thinking that if he kept it up, he could somehow get his body further away from his flat-mates. Even knowing that he was just wasting energy, he couldn't help himself.

"Why are you trying to run away from me John?"

Sherlock's voice was low, almost a growl.

"I—"

"No, don't speak. Just… take a deep breath and relax. Please."

John somehow, through all the panic, noticed that Sherlock wasn't making a suggestion. He tried his best to just breathe, but with much difficulty. He wasn't sure why he didn't just bolt away from his flat-mate. He knew for a fact that he could immobilize him if he wanted to, but didn't. Why though? He couldn't understand it. Maybe it had to do with the way Sherlock was looking into his eyes. It was as if he was reading him. No, it was more than that. Like he was looking into his soul.

After another moment of just gazing at each other, John started to just accept the current situation. As much as it was "freaking" him out, (only an angsty teenager would think of such language,) he knew panic wouldn't get him anywhere. The soldier in him once again took over his emotional state.

"Now John, as mad as this is to you, and surprisingly enough for me as well, I need you to let me try something."

Here it came. John knew what Sherlock was going to try to attempt now, but why? Why now of all times, and most importantly, why him of all people?

John subconsciously licked his lips, only a fraction of a second later realizing that this would just provoke his flat-mate more. He mentally punched himself.

Sherlock slowly lowered his head eye level with John, not breaking his gaze once. He too wondered why the doctor wasn't attempting his escape, another thing he failed to understand seeing as he was an absolute genius.

He decided to lower his hands from both sides of John, coming to the conclusion that he wouldn't attempt to go anywhere. Sherlock was of course right. John just kept gazing back at him with the same amount of intensity. The detective also came to the conclusion that his flat-mate, instead of running away, would just come face to face what was happening to get it done and over with.

He placed both hands on either side of Johns face, right between cheek and neck. He felt John tense.

"Relax."

His words had an almost instantaneous effect on the doctor. The way he spoke just sounded so reassuring to John, and trusting. His panic was barely a slight worry now.

Sherlock leaned his head into John. He first kissed his forehead, deciding that the best way to do this was to take it slowly, for both of their sakes. Then he made his way down to John's right temple, giving it a feather light kiss. Then to his cheek. Then the corer of his mouth, and then, letting instinct take over and closing his eyes, his lips.

These trails of kisses were dramatically messing with John's breathing patterns. He couldn't understand how someone could go from laughing, to panic, to calm, to panic again, back to calm, and then mentally begging for more in only a matter of minutes. But more than that, he couldn't understand what brought him to all of a sudden want this man. It was most confusing.

Sherlock just let his lips linger over John's before deciding to take more action. For some reason he had this nagging urge to bite on the doctors bottom lip. He already gave himself up to instinct, so what ever happened, happened.

Doing this made John gasp. He wouldn't have expected Sherlock to think of something like this. It was starting to overload his brain. He broke the kiss, which he wouldn't let himself admit was pretty amazing even if it didn't really get that far, (in theory,) and pushed himself past Sherlock stealthily, going all the way to the other end of the room to try to calm himself.

Sherlock was still facing the corner, his eyes closed. He opened them, and turned around to face John. He noticed he was all the way on the other side of the room. Trying to calm himself down, he supposed.

John attempted to speak, though he was still trying to catch his breath.

"Where in the _world_, Sherlock, did that come from?"

Sherlock wasn't too sure himself. One moment he was figuring out a tactic to get the computer back, and then another he was trying to get John to the corner. Instincts. It was the only thing that made sense.

Sherlock was also trying to steady his voice somewhat.

"I don't know. It just… happened."

"No Sherlock, things don't just magically, _happen_, with you. Well… maybe they do, but—"

He was loosing his train of thought.

"It won't ever happen again."

John just looked back at him, only now just realizing how far away they were from each other.

"It won't?"

Sherlock sighed and placed his hands on his hips.

"John, you know how I feel, if you will, about repetition."

John just nodded his head and mirrored Sherlock's movement. Why in the bloody hell was he feeling disappointed? This really was the strangest thing that has happened out of all the other things with Sherlock.

John nodded once more, not knowing what else to do. He checked his mobile phone for the time, seeing that it wasn't quite late enough for sleep. He would just have to be in Sherlock's presence for a little bit longer.

He knew they would have to talk about this, but right now he just needed to focus on something else, anything else, to get his mind off of the odd things he was feeling.

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**Hello again! Hope you thought it somewhat alright. I'm still not too sure how I feel about. I'm working on the third chapter as we speak, though I'm not sure if it will get posted as quickly. Anywho, thanks again for the review also. I got so excited when I saw them!**

**R&R**

**Gosh, I love typing that out.**


	3. The Truth

**Authors Note's: Hello everyone! So, here it is. Chapter three. Sorry it took a while. Been busy and all that. I know, excuses, excuses. :-3**

**Also, same with the NOT owning characters, blah, NOT making money, yak, but YES having ownege (is that even a word?) of the plot. Bleh.  
**

**So enjoy, my fellow readers!**

**R&R dahlings!

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_Summary: It all starts when John Watson asks Sherlock Holmes if he wants to go out to dinner at nine thirty in the morning. The rest is history. Read to find out what the history is._

_A Slow Yet Sure Realization_

_Chapter Three: The Truth_

John needed to figure out a way to broach the subject of what happened between him and Sherlock, though too often lost his nerve. He was a soldier, for God sakes! He had faced much worse in Afghanistan. He couldn't let something as simple as what happened between him and his flat-mate get the best of him.

But in reality, he knew that it wasn't as simple as he hoped it to be. Sherlock had kissed him, and he sort of kissed back. Yes, quite simple.

It was perhaps the fiftieth time that week after the kiss that John Watson once again got up the courage to face Sherlock about it. The only problem was that out of all the places to finally have the nerve (again,) it had to be a crime scene.

They just got the case that morning. As usual Sherlock just ran out the door with out saying as much as a word to John, at this point knowing that his friend would always follow along right behind him.

As the detective was examining the sprawled out body, John knew that as bad a time as it was to bring up the matter, as it were, he had a feeling that this would be the last time he would have the nerve to say anything. Just as he opened his mouth, Sherlock beat him to it.

"I know what you are going to say John, but what I I have yet to understand is why now of all times."

John closed his mouth. He just stared at Sherlock, who's back was stilled turned to him who was still in the process of examining the corps.

"No wait, don't tell me."

He got up from the crouching position he was in, and swiftly turned to face John.

"I know you have been wanting to bring up this particular topic for some time now."

John simply looked back at him. He once again opened his mouth to talk, only to have Sherlock interrupt him yet again.

"And if you don't mind, try not to loose your nerve again. It's quite irritating."

John dug his hands in his coat pockets, trying for the umpteenth time to just say what has been nagging him for the past week. He went into soldier mode, something he had been doing a lot lately he noticed, and forced him to keep his eyes locked with Sherlock's.

"Why did you do it?"

Sherlock just kept staring back, eyes not wavering in the slightest.

"Do what?

John clenched his hands, still in his pockets, into fists to control the impatience that was rising.

"Kiss me?"

The detective pondered for a moment. Why did he kiss John? All he knew was that something within him took over. But other than that, he really wasn't sure why.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

John wasn't expecting this answer. He thought for sure he would get something a bit more straightforward. He heaved a frustrated sigh.

"So you're saying you don't know why you did what you did."

Sherlock wasn't one to admit if he didn't know something, but in this case, he sincerely didn't have a clue. Well, he did actually. It was purely his instincts. That subconscious, natural knowing a high majority of people were born with. But he wasn't in a seminar-giving mood, so he just gave one simple answer.

"Precisely."

John nodded his head in slow subconscious movements.

"Alright. If you insist."

And with that, Sherlock went back to his deducing, while John went back to thinking.

…

When they got home after a long day, John offered, as usual, to make Sherlock a cup of tea. And as usual, Sherlock accepted.

Whist John was in the kitchen preparing the beverage, Sherlock silently observed him from the main living area. He noticed how John moved knowingly. Very quietly, be moved up behind John. In the midst of his concentration, he didn't notice Sherlock, not until he turned around.

His heart slammed in his chest at the unexpected sight of his friend.

Sherlock grinned at the expression John was making.

"Good God man! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

The detective made as innocent a face as he possibly could.

"Oh, I do apologize John."

The doctor noticed that his flat-mate wasn't backing away. Actually, now that it was brought to his attention, he was rather close, interfering in his space bubble by a substantial amount.

He leaned back slightly, putting his hands on the counter behind him for leverage. When John tried to speak, he kept stumbling on his words.

"Can I, er, help you with… something, Sherlock?"

Sherlock spoke, this time being serious.

"It is about our earlier discussion."

John thought for a moment, and then understood what Sherlock was talking about.

"Well, what about it?"

The detective looked down at John. Something about him seemed different all of a sudden. He couldn't quite place what it was that sparked this change.

"When I said that your guess was as good as mine, maybe I was only being partially truthful."

"Partially truthful," John repeated.

"Yes."

"And how so?"

John couldn't grasp why he was being so calm this time, especially with Sherlock in his personal space, something he started to not think about anymore.

"Well…" Sherlock leaned in a bit closer to John for a fraction of a second before dashing back to the main living area. He started to pace back and forth, trying to form the words in his mind, something he never had to do before. After a few minutes of this, he sprinted back to John who was now standing in the door frame, holding on to one side while his body leaned in the other direction.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment that could have been an eternity. He began, speaking rapidly.

"It was partially truthful because at first I wasn't sure what it was. But when I observed more closely, I noticed it was an instinct, and I had to act upon it regardless of anything. And then for some unknown reason…" he drifted off for a moment, seeing if he could find a smarter way to phrase what he wanted to say last, but he couldn't

"For some reason, it just… felt right."

John straightened himself, looking up at Sherlock. His stomach started to flutter. Could it be that he felt the exact same way? And ironically enough, he felt this instinct of his take over. He knew that if he didn't act upon it, that if he ignored it, he would regret it for a very, very long time.

He slowly walked the small bit of space that was between him and the detective, still holding his gaze. He bit his lip in concentration, lifting both hand tentatively to place on Sherlock's chest. He could feel the man's heart rate speeding up. He could only imagine how fast his must have been going.

He lifted his head up all the way, standing on the balls of his feet. He closed his eyes just as Sherlock did, and gave him a sweet tender kiss.

His flat-mate placed his hands on John waist, surprising him for a moment, but recovering quickly.

Soon the kiss grew deeper and more passionate, with Johns arms wrapped around Sherlock's neck, and Sherlock's arms wrapped around John's waist, both holding on for dear life.

Sherlock broke the kiss to take hold of both of John's hands, and gently pulled him towards the couch, placing him on his back while Sherlock straddled his hips. He once again lowered his lips, and both continued as if they never stopped.

John placed one hand in Sherlock's hair, gently tugging, while the other slid his hands down to the doctor's hips, and then slowly sliding his hands underneath his shirt.

The cold touch of his hands got Johns attention, and he gasped, unintentionally breaking the kiss. Sherlock took this as a moment to catch his breath. He leaned his forehead on Johns, his eyes closed, trying to take in what was happening.

At that exact second, Sherlock's phone beeped. He got a text from Lestrade, and for once wasn't too happy about it.

He reached into his pocket with effort, though didn't find it. He noticed it on the floor a couple meters away. It most likely fell out of his pocket just a few minutes ago.

Instead of going to retrieve it like he usually would, he lowered himself on John, resting his head on his heart. The steady rhythm was soothing.

John absentmindedly started gently running his hand through Sherlock's hair.

He spoke in a whisper.

"Shouldn't you get that?"

Sherlock answered in a muffled voice.

"No."

John silently laughed to himself, still stroking his flat-mates hair.

"You should, you know. It's probably a forward on the case."

Sherlock knew John was right. He lifted up his head, and nuzzled Johns nose with his own before stealthily getting up. He opened the text. John was right. It had to do with the case, though it wasn't necessarily progress.

He sighed.

"There was another murder. Most likely by the same woman."

John got up and looked around Sherlock at the text.

"A woman? How do you know?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson."

And with that, he grabbed his coat and ran out the door, John in step with him, a smile on his face that felt like it would never go away.

* * *

**Okay, I hope that was alright. Not sure when the next chapter will be here. To tell you the truth, I'm not even sure how many chapters it's gonna go on for. I guess we'll both have to just wait and see.**

**Also, are there any mistakes? Let me know and I'll try to fix them.**

**Thanks for reading, and stay tuned!**


	4. Unveiled

**Author's Notes: Hello again Fanfictioneers! It's been a while no? Anyhow, here it is, chapter four! I have some mixed feeling towered it. Not sure it's all I want it to be, but here it is, nonetheless.**

**Oh, and the same things still apply: Me NOT owning the characters, me NOT making money off of the story, but the plot being MY OWN.**

**Just formalities, ya know. :-3**

**All right, here it is. Read away my friends, read away!**

**R&R  
**

* * *

_Summary: It all starts when John Watson asks Sherlock Holmes if he wants to go out to dinner at nine thirty in the morning. The rest is history. Read to find out what the history is._

_A Slow Yet Sure Realization_

_Chapter Four: Unveiled  
_

This new found relationship between Sherlock and John was only somewhat official. They had yet to tell or show the rest of the world.

John still wasn't too sure about public affection. He had mixed feelings towards it, as did Sherlock. But in this case, for some reason unbeknownst to John, Sherlock actually attempted more than once to hold Johns hand, or wrap his arms around him in some manner, though John always pushed him away. Not in a rude way, but just a slight nudge. Well, usually it was a slight nudge.

They were at the crime scene of the case with the woman killer, right after they were first intimate with each other. They were both standing over her most resent victim, side by side. Sherlock was asking John what he thought.

"So John, what do you think?"

He turned his head to look at Sherlock, perplexed.

"Think about what?"

Sherlock looked back at the doctor, amusement playing on his face. When John saw that he was talking about the body, a slight blush crept on the tip of his ears due to embarrassment. So he crouched down and went into doctor mode, a nice change from the usual soldier mode he went into a lot these days.

"Hm, well, no bruises, so there weren't any beatings, except," His eyes were drawn to the wrists on the corps, "there was a struggle. His wrists were tied. But this is what caused death."

He pointed to the neck where a long deep gash went across the front of the victim's neck. "A slit throat. That's original," he noted with a hint of sarcasm.

He stood up. When he was at full height, he felt arms wrap around his waist, and a chin rest on his shoulder.

"Very good John. I think you're ready for more of a challenge."

John felt like he could have died on the spot, which would have been appropriate at a crime scene. He quickly unwrapped Sherlock's arms from around his waist, turned around and pushed Sherlock away a bit too forcefully.

"Are you mental? Are you trying to get people to look?"

Sherlock looked left and right, then back at John, his eyes analyzing.

"'Look,'" Sherlock quoted, which was rare since he wasn't typically a fan of repetition.

"Yes, look!"

Sherlock didn't quite understand. John knew that just because he knew what people were thinking all of the time, didn't mean he typically cared. John's opinion was the _only_ opinion he ever cared about.

"And when did I ever care when peopled 'looked'?"

"Well, I still… care. A little. I mean—"

John lifted his head up in the air as if to ask God "Why," and rubbed his eyes.

He gazed back at the detective; an expression on his face that he hoped was apologetic and caring.

"I just need some time. Mostly to get used to the idea that I snogged my male flat-mate who also happens to be the worlds only consulting detective."

Sherlock sighed. He should have known that John wasn't ready to go public with this relationship. It was still so new to him, and most definitely was to Sherlock since he never thought he'd ever feel this way about anyone. Ever.

He went to where he was standing before John pushed him away, (Sherlock knew John didn't mean to be so abrupt,) and gave a quick pat to the side of his flat-mates arm, trying to make it look manly.

"Ah, don't fret John. I completely understand." He was also making his voice sound nonchalant, as if they were only talking about the weather.

John picked up on this, and gave a genuine smile.

That was another thing Sherlock appreciated so much in John. He was able to pick up on the slightest hints without even thinking about it. Sherlock came to the conclusion that the one thing he will never understand is why John thought of himself as so ordinary. Why couldn't he see how wrong he was about himself?

Sherlock tried his best to convey what he was feeling to John. His gaze was intense. John stared back in a trance for a few moments, then looked down, the blush from before creeping back into his face. He turned around, and stared back down at the lifeless form on the ground.

"All right than, why don't you solve this bloody case already?"

Though Sherlock had once again the urge to wrap himself around John, he fought the feeling and to occupy his hands, stuffed them in his coat pockets.

"I already have."

John spun around to face Sherlock once more. He had a storm of emotions playing on his face the detective noticed. First confusion, then surprise, then anger, and back to confusion again.

Sherlock gave a small frown.

"John, are you ill?"

John opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then opened his mouth again in response.

"No I am not ill. I am just trying to figure out why you haven't gone to Lestrade yet."

"Because I want you to have this one."

John lifted his eyebrows, confused again. Why would Sherlock, brilliant amazing Sherlock, world's only Consulting Detective, want boring old John to solve the murder? This was by far the maddest thing Sherlock had ever done.

John heaved a sigh.

"Sherlock, let's not waste our time with me trying to do something far beyond my mental capacity."

Now Sherlock was the angry one. He stepped closer to John, forgetting about giving him his personal space while in the public eye. Sherlock's movement was so sudden to John that he forgot to take a step backwards. The detective stared down at John. His John.

"Why must you be like this John?" He whispered so only John could hear his words.

"Always putting yourself down, always seeing yourself as inferior to everyone, like your existence has no meaning?"

John's eyes were big as he stared back at the detective who was only mere inches from his face, noses nearly touching.

"I—"

"Why can't you see how brilliant you are?"

Johns breathing turned shallow. The words he was about to utter caught in his throat. Sherlock continued.

"If no one can see what should be so painfully obvious, then the human race is more blind than I originally presumed."

John was having an emotional overload. He would have never imagined hearing such beautiful words directed at him, and before he knew what he was doing, he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck in a tight embrace and pulled him in for a kiss.

Sherlock responded almost immediately, kissing back with the same amount of force. Just ten seconds later they heard a cough. John remembered that they weren't in the comfort of their flat, and pushed Sherlock away for the second time that day. They both looked around and saw Sergeant Sally Donovan, arms folded over her chest, a single eyebrow raised. She looked back and forth from the two men, observing their disheveled hair.

"What's this then?"

Sherlock and John looked at each other, not sure what to do or say next.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Well, there you have it. And I bet you're wondering: But how did every one else at the crime scene NOT notice our two favorite people in the whole wide world making out like a couple o' teenagers? Well, that shall be revealed in the next chapter!**

**(Not that it's such a cliffhanger or anything, but I may as well try to make it sound exciting, right?)**

**Anywho, if ya wanna, let me know what ya think 'cause I seriously am not sure how I feel about this chapter at all. Constructive feedback please!**

**:-)  
**


	5. Come To Think Of It

**Author's Notes: Well, I dare say everyone, it has been awhile, no? Anywhooooo, here's the next chapter. Hm... I'm not too sure how I feel about it. Quite honestly though, I don't like it at all. But here you have it. Hope it lives up to par.**

**So, I do NOT own characters, (though wish I did,) I make NO money whatsoever on this lil' tale of mine, but the plot IS my own.**

**Well, here it is. Please enjoy, even though I feel it's not as great as it could be.**

* * *

_Summary: It all starts when John Watson asks Sherlock Holmes if he wants to go out to dinner at nine thirty in the morning. The rest is history. Read to find out what the history is._

_A Slow Yet Sure Realization_

_Chapter Five: Come To Think Of It...  
_

So there they were. John and Sherlock. Sherlock and John.

And Sergeant Sally Donovan, still looking between the two men who were formerly, to put it bluntly, frenching each others heads off.

The words "what's this then" were still ringing in Johns ears. Instead of just coming out with it he started to analyze the ground (something he notice he was doing quite often today,) and stood ramrod straight.

Sherlock on the other hand just went about casually smoothing out his curly locks. Though he looked collected, he was truly at a loss for words, which made him uncomfortable. Maybe if he said that he—no, there really was nothing he could say. She saw too much. He decided to keep the conversation short and simple, and if possible, monosyllabic.

"Problem?"

Donovan let her gaze fall on Sherlock. The detective noticed the smirk on her face being overly smug. She just shrugged, trying to play innocent, as if she saw nothing.

"No problem. None. What. So. Ever."

She let her last words draw out. With that she gave a toothy grin, something very out of character for even her, and walked away, ending the conversation.

The conversation went well time wise Sherlock thought; though the way she spoke the last four words just screamed that she was up to something, and Sherlock had a very strong suspicion as to what she was up to.

He looked at his phone noting the time. He looked down at the sprawled out corps analyzing it for a few more moments. He looked over at John who was still staring at the ground, his face a pleasant shade of red.

"Come, we're finding Lestrade."

He then took hold of John's hand and dragged him in the direction of the inspector who was talking to what looked like acquaintances of the victim. Sherlock found it off that they were talking within so close proximity of the body. He decided not to dwell on the matter seeing as there were more important things to deal with. Well, things that _he_ thought were more important anyhow.

"I know you didn't know the victim well, but every bit of information counts more than you know—"

The moment they were in hearing distance of Lestrade, Sherlock spoke up loudly.

"I know who the murder is!"

The inspector stopped mid sentence, a mixture of relief and confusion flooding his features.

"Really," he said. He nodded his head up and down in approval.

"Good work Sherlock, John. Now who is—"?

"Inspector!"

Sally Donovan was running their way, ready to make this the best day of her life. Sherlock figured John knew what was coming, so he held on to his hand tighter. Sherlock then felt Johns hand squeeze his own in response. He quickly glanced over to John who was right beside him. He gave him a reassuring smile. John did the same.

Not caring whom else was around, the moment Sally made it over the Lestrade, she let what she had been holding in all day let loose, though she could only talk in between pants.

_Pant. _"Sherlock—" _Pant._ "John—" _Pant._ "Like teenagers—" _Pant._

Lestrade looked like he had enough.

"Oh for God sakes Donovan! You really think this is a time to play these ridiculous games?"

"But—"

"Go."

Lestrade turned back to the people he was formally talking to and gave them an apologetic nod. He then gave his attention to John and Sherlock, hands on his hips, waiting.

"So, tell me what you know."

It was then that Sherlock went into a quick yet detailed description of the big picture after all the pieces were finally put together. They discovered the murderer to be the owner of a small antique shop. During most of her adult life she entered into an abusive relationship making her want to give up men all together once she finally got out of it. Unfortunately she says, she lost track of her ex and wanted him to be the first of her dubbed "miniature massacre."

By the time everything was dealt with, the sky started to grow dark. Right when Sherlock and John were about to make their way home, they saw Lestrade jogging in their direction. Sherlock didn't miss John standing a little straighter. When he looked towards Lestrade, he knew both him and John weren't going to be coming by another streak of luck like they did before.

When Lestrade was directly in front of them both he looked everywhere but at them.

"Uh… Sherlock, John… Um… I need to ask you both something, and I need the truth."

Sherlock nodded his head in understanding, John doing the same, accepting the situation.

"Okay," started Lestrade.

"Now, I would never let Donovan confirm my suspicions, but rather I noticed something on my own today."

The inspector started to gain a bit more confidence and looked at them both in the eyes.

"So tell me, do you both just hold hands for the hell of it? And, well, I did let Donovan speak a little bit I must say. She mentioned something about… uh…"

He started to rub the back of his neck, not quite sure how to word it.

Not thinking twice about it, Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's waist, bringing him close to his side. He then spoke in a leveled tone.

"Does this confirm your suspicions Inspector?"

John buried his face in his hands. Not because of embarrassment, but due to the stupid grin that was starting to spread across his face.

Lestrade nodded, smiling at them both.

"Well then, I wish you both happiness and the like…" He trailed off, nodding his head and waving his hand in a gesture that said "so on and so forth."

Sherlock lifted one eyebrow. It wasn't like they were getting married. They were just… dating. But nonetheless, Sherlock responded.

"Thank you Inspector. That was quite… uh, nice of you to say."

Lestrade nodded, though there still was one thing left on his mind.

"You don't think this will effect you, you know, deducing wise."

Lestrade mentally slapped himself for making the last part sound lame.

After less than a fraction of a second Sherlock answered.

"Why would it? There's no reason why it should."

John dwelled on the thought a bit. Would this relationship compromise Sherlock's ability to see through the unimaginable? Sherlock didn't think so at all, but John felt only slightly different. The last thing he wanted to do was distract his flat-mate from what was really important. He wanted to talk about it with Sherlock, but not yet. It wasn't the right time.

"Well, if you say so. I'll text you if we have anything else."

Sherlock gave a quick nod signing the official end of the conversation, and and started walking towards the street to hail a cabby, gently pulling John with him, arm still around his waist.

Once they were inside the car, Sherlock looked towards John who was looking out the window, mind elsewhere. Sherlock saw John's hand lying in between them. He reached over and took it with his own, rubbing his thumb along the back in a soothing gesture.

This brought John back to reality. He turned his head to look at the other man, just simply staring; hundreds of things racing through his mind, but one thing above them all wouldn't leave him alone. Sherlock grew slightly worried. Did he do something wrong? Should he not have reached over?

"John?"

John shook his head back and forth and rubbed his face with his free hand.

"It's nothing Sherlock. I'm just in my own world a bit."

Sherlock gave a slight nod. He would ask again later whether John was really okay. But he wanted John to have his space. He looked like he need it.

* * *

**Author's Notes: If there was any bad spelling or grammar business going on up there, let me know.**

**Thanks for reading.**

**:-)**


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